It's Not Easy Being Green, It Could Be Nicer Being Red
by deadwoodpecker
Summary: Harry and Ginny steer toward a relationship. Please enjoy this fluffy little story.
1. It's Not Easy Being Green

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

All through his sixth year, Harry thought it was a crush. The irrational jealousy toward Dean Thomas, the little fantasies he had about her during the day, and the not-so-innocent way she cropped up in his dreams at night. But she was Ron's little sister. And, beyond that, that was the year he'd learned about the Horcruxes. And she didn't break up with Dean until the end of the year; before Harry could work up the courage to ask her out, Dumbledore died, and the world crashed down around their ears.

During the seemingly endless Horcrux hunt, she was – well, she represented why the endless camping and the fruitless searching was worth it. It embarrassed Harry a little when he actually thought about it. The idea of her finding out that he watched her on the Marauder's Map, and that he'd felt a physical pull toward the Burrow when they'd visited Luna's dad.

His feeble reasoning fell apart the day after the final battle, when he had a chance to process his feelings without a haze of exhaustion. It was as though he watched himself, and everything was in stark relief. He'd seen her on his way to die; he'd wanted to stop, but he'd known that he might not have had the strength to continue. His last thought had been of her. And at the end, when Bellatrix's curse had almost hit her, had Molly Weasley not shoved him aside, Harry would have dueled Bellatrix instead of going after Voldemort.

He was in love with her.

For the first few months, he didn't tell her because Fred's death had torn a huge hole in all of them. It seemed inappropriate to mention it. And how the hell was he supposed to anyway? He was afraid that once he mentioned that he wanted to take her to Diagon Alley for ice cream – all by themselves, a real date – he would tell her how he stalked her dot and how the image of her face had filled his last moments.

But Harry wasn't a total coward (he had his Order of Merlin, First Class, to prove it, _damn it_ ). In early December he decided that he would tell her over Christmas. This surge of bravery had come from the fact that she'd written him several times during her first term. He'd replied to her first note, but it was like he'd been writing with Dolores Umbridge's blood quill, and he hadn't written her back after that.

He just wanted to tell her he loved her to her face.

Waiting in the kitchen with the rest of the Weasleys had set his nerves on edge. She came in through the floo, already smiling, lugging her trunk. Harry stepped forward and grabbed it, and their eyes had met, and Harry's mouth had dropped open. He was just about to ask her if he could speak to her privately, but then she did it.

 _It._

She reached out her hand and patted him three times on the arm. The action that would, in the years to come, set his teeth on edge. Every time she did it, it just seemed like she was throwing it in his face that they were just friends. _We're just friends._ Pat. Pat. Pat.

Even then, Harry might have rallied, but he never got a moment alone with her. And then he heard through George's half-hearted teasing that she was dating someone. His obviously unrealistic fantasy of being with her for Christmas imploded behind his eyes.

Ginny dated _a lot._ He mostly developed a fatalistic attitude about it. She had every right not to feel for him the way he felt for her. And it made it a little better that she wasn't serious about any of the blokes. He heard from Hermione that she went to Hogsmeade with a Ravenclaw boy, and then attended the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match with someone else.

 _At least no one knows,_ Harry thought, the day of her graduation from Hogwarts. While Mrs. Weasley wept proudly ("My first child since Percy to graduate from school!"), Harry did his best to remain completely casual. Being in love with someone when they didn't feel the same way was one thing. Having everyone around, giving him pitying looks, was quite another.

Harry turned nineteen. And then he turned twenty. And he was almost twenty-one years old when things began to shift between him and Ginny, almost imperceptibly.

 **Chapter 2: Footloose**

Harry stared down at his wine glass while he leaned up against the pillar, taking a bit of a break from watching all the wedding guests dance. His dress robes felt uncomfortably tight and he struggled with the collar. It did not help, and he swore under his breath.

"Surly as ever?" _Her_ voice, warm and amused.

He glanced over at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining, and her bright red hair was coming out of its complicated style. "Surly?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, surly," she said, moving one hand to her hip. "You're the best man; you're supposed to be making sure Ron is embarrassed as much as possible." Tapping her chin and affecting a thoughtful expression Harry didn't believe for a second, she added, "Although embarrassing Ron means embarrassing Hermione, and it's my duty as maid of honor to make sure that doesn't happen."

"So we're friendly enemies, eh?" he asked. "Rivaling duties?"

"Exactly," she replied.

Harry recognized the shift in her expression, and he exerted massive effort to hide his grimace from her. A pale, soft hand reached out—

 _Pat. Pat. Pat._

 _We're just friends._

Harry did not know whether it was the wine he had drunk, or the sparkle in her eyes, but the words came out without him being able to stop it. "Let's dance," he said. And then, when she looked surprised, "Do you want to dance?"

"Sure," she said, taking his wine glass and setting it on a table that held an almost obscenely large flower arrangement.

Harry led her out on the dance floor easily enough. They found a hole in the crowd, and Harry was able to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, and put one hand at her waist, and held the other in his hand. _This is the closest I've ever really been to her!_ he thought, exultant.

His euphoria was short-lived. As much as he wanted to relax and move with her, his feet had other ideas. Instead of stunning her with his dancing skills (even Harry had to admit this might be hard to do since he could count on exactly two fingers how many times he'd danced in his life), he stepped on her foot. Instead of swaying, they tripped.

After a particularly painful moment (Ginny had almost just collided with a balding Muggle – one of Hermione's relatives), Harry heard a familiar snicker. He turned to glare balefully at Ron, who was managing not only to dance with some semblance of grace, but also hadn't appeared to do physical damage to the woman he loved.

"Ow!" he said, when the high heel of Ginny's shoe came down on his big toe.

" _Sorry!_ " she whispered, sounding mortified.

Ron continued to laugh. Even Hermione chuckled. Harry made a rude hand gesture at them.

"Remember I've still got to make my toast," Harry said warningly. He'd planned on a nice toast that only teased them a little, but if they continued to laugh, he was going to have to change his mind. "Don't force me to tell them about that drunken conversation at the Witch's Brew, _Ron._ "

Ron's gaze flickered from Ginny, to Hermione, and back to Harry's, and he grimaced in surrender. "All right," he said finally, but he pointed a finger in warning. "Just don't knock over any of the guests."

"Give it a rest, Ron!" Ginny ordered, wincing when Harry stumbled over her feet.

Ron thankfully twirled Hermione in the opposite direction. Harry watched them go, wishing he was as comfortable with Ginny as Ron was with Hermione. He wanted to hold her close, but he was just too aware of the warmth of her body and the feel of her hand in his. That flowery scent wafted up, and Harry breathed in deeply, just as he went one way and she went the other.

"I'm usually not clumsy," she told him, sounding frustrated. "I can fly. Generally, I can walk without banging into things—"

"I know," he assured her, deciding to try a small circle. It would have worked had she not had the idea to go in a line. "I think it's me. I've seen you on a broom, you know—"

"Not for a long time," she chuckled nervously.

 _Not for a long time?_ Harry stopped attempting to dance, but swayed side to side. "Is a week a long time?" he asked.

"A week?" her eyes widened. "But – when have you gone to my games? I thought – not since Hogwarts?"

Harry had gone to every single one of the ninety-seven matches she'd played as part of the Holyhead Harpies. _She didn't even notice me!_ "Oh," he said, mind reeling. He couldn't tell her that he'd been to every match, could he? That would make him sound like a stalker – which he sort of was, but he didn't want her to _know_ that. "I was there last week. Puddlemere United, right? I thought you were going to make Oliver Wood cry…"

Her brows came together in confusion, and she stopped moving. "Why didn't you stay after?" she asked. "You could've let me know you were there."

"Well…" he said, not knowing how to respond. "You were probably pretty busy, right? Post-match euphoria, and all that."

Her eyes searched his, and then understanding dawned on her face. Simultaneously, Harry's heart leapt and his stomach dropped.

"You don't need to worry about the press," she said knowingly. It took Harry several seconds to figure out what she was saying. "We've got people who keep them away unless we want them there – no one would've intruded on your privacy," she continued.

"Oh, right," he said, pleased that she came to her own conclusion. "Though what about the other Harpies? Wouldn't they tear me apart and eat me for being a bloke?"

She laughed, and he grinned back at her stupidly. "They wouldn't hurt _you,_ " she promised. "You're Harry Potter! They would only nibble at you a bit."

 _I want you to nibble at me,_ he thought glumly. "Listen, I—"

"Next time, if you ever get a chance to come again, let me know," she told him, pulling away, but not before delivering another _We're just friends_ pat-pat-pat. The wizard band had taken a break, and everyone else was filing off the dance floor. She smiled at him as she backed away. "I'm going to go practice my toast; Hermione would kill me if it wasn't memorized."

"I'll let you know," he promised, but didn't think she could hear him. After another few seconds of standing there like a fool, he went in search of his wine. He swore under his breath when he realized how long he'd left it; he hadn't even bothered to put a shield around his glass to keep it safe.

Mouth a thin line, he headed back to the bar.

The next morning, Harry had a slight hangover, which made George's constant nattering on extremely annoying. Most of the younger Weasleys (including Percy) lounged in the living room in their pajamas watching Ron and Hermione open their gifts. The wrapping paper flew, and so did George's inappropriate comments.

"Ron does just fine, George," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"Don't make me curse you," Ron threatened. Harry could tell that Ron wasn't entirely joking. It was one thing to be teased for never having slept with anyone else at a stag party, and quite another to be teased the morning after a wedding night.

"But really, how well could you know your way around a—"

"What's wrong with not sleeping with someone unless you're in love with them?" Harry blurted out, watching Ron's ears turn bright red. _The things I do for friendship._ At least Ginny hadn't made it downstairs yet.

It was Percy who spoke first. "There's nothing wrong with that," he said pompously. "It just isn't very usual. Wizards have—"

"The urge to shag," George interrupted. "And I sure as hell haven't waited to fall in love. Not all of us are like Ron, who fell in love his first year at Hogwarts." Bitterness flashed over his face, but receded so quickly that Harry wasn't entirely sure it had actually been there.

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Percy. "But surely you, as a single man, know that it's impossible to wait if witches are willing."

"What does this have to do with Ron?" Harry asked, not liking where this conversation was going at all. "He was in love—"

"Ron's old and married, now," George said, grinning slyly. Harry very much did not like the glint in his eyes. "So you think that sex should happen when two people are in love?"

"Yes," Harry said irritably.

 _Where is Mrs. Weasley when I need her?_ He glared at Ron, who looked very uncomfortable, yet unwilling to say anything to George.

"I really don't think—" Hermione began.

"So either you're a virgin, or you – Ginny!"

 _Of course,_ he thought. There had only been one other time when he'd been less happy to see her. She flopped down next to him, still bleary-eyed, and gave him the pat-pat-pat on his leg. He was definitely on the path to deep embarrassment.

"George," he groaned.

"What are we talking about?" Ginny yawned at the same time. "And why aren't those two out shagging somewhere?"

"We're not talking about _anything,_ " Harry said, his voice much louder than he intended.

"Harry's love life," George said smugly. "Or lack thereof. Really, Harry, as the bloke who defeated Voldemort, you really need to—"

"Shut the hell up, George!" Ron said, to Harry's vast relief.

"Watch your mouth, young man," Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room, levitating a plate piled high with breakfast food of every kind. Harry wasn't particularly hungry, but if there was one way to distract a Weasley – even George – it was put food in front of them.

 **Chapter 3: Love Potions**

It was only two days after Ron and Hermione left for their honeymoon that Harry saw Ginny again, under extremely fortuitous circumstances.

George's head appeared in the fire in Harry's office just as he was about to leave for the day. "Hey, George," Harry said, surprised. It wasn't often that George used this sort of method to get ahold of him. He generally just showed up at Harry's house. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing really," George said in an overly casual voice. "I just need you to come by the store."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Not that I won't but"-his brow furrowed-"as an Auror?"

"I have your _list_ for you," George said portentously.

Harry knew immediately what George was talking about. Every month, George gave him a list of all the witches (and wizards) who had purchased love potions. Silly, yes. But after several incidents with love potions (one of which had been a _very_ near miss), Harry viewed this as necessary for survival. The last thing that he wanted was to falsely fall in love with some scheming witch (or wizard, which would be even worse). But as important as Harry saw this, George generally sent him an owl with the list.

"Something wrong with Pooky?" Harry asked, inquiring after George's owl.

"He's on another delivery," George said promptly.

Harry opened his mouth to question why George could not simply leave the shop and walk down two doors to the Owl Post, but decided against it. George had never once questioned Harry's paranoia. And despite the fact that he often asked Harry uncomfortable questions, Harry owed him. _Maybe he's just lonely,_ Harry thought. "All right," he said. "Give me five minutes to finish this, and I'll be right there."

"Thanks," George said cheerfully.

Harry signed the documents that Kingsley had sent over using the quill Hermione had bought him for his last birthday. It was good to be an Auror, despite the paperwork. And sometimes the paperwork was even a relief after being in the field. His work was gratifying, but it was nice to rest and let others round up petty crooks every once in a while. His task complete, Harry got up and put on his heavy cloak - January was particularly cold this year - and stepped into the hearth.

"Weasleys Wizard Wheezes!" Harry said firmly. The flames roared green and he spun away from his modest office in the Ministry of Magic and toward George's shop. He stepped out of the fire to an empty room. _Odd._ Hadn't George just been talking to him from here? It was past time for the shop to be closed. _Maybe he's stocking the shelves,_ thought Harry.

He walked over to the door, but his hand stilled on the knob when he heard a loud voice.

"Ginny!" George said.

Harry's stomach swooped. _She's here?_

"Fancy seeing you here," George continued. "What brings my favorite little sister - don't tell Ron - to my humble shop?"

"Don't be a fool," Ginny said, sounding annoyed. "I told you you didn't need to do that."

Harry ruffled his hair, feeling slightly guilty for eavesdropping and, wanting to see her, opened the door. "Hey," he said, trying to seem casual. Every since he'd danced with her, his feelings had escalated, and he'd had a hard time concentrating on anything else. He'd even come to the decision that even if she totally rejected him, he was going to have to tell her. If only for his own sanity. Ginny was mature. She'd be able to deal with his feelings without letting it get awkward between them. They'd still be friends...

A hand clapped on his shoulder. "Long day, mate?" George said. He sounded far more sympathetic than usual. Harry realized that he must have been staring. Hopefully he hadn't been staring at Ginny.

"Yeah," Harry said. "We're busy with a few cases. And not having Ron there means more work. Not that I'm complaining," he added hastily. "But it seems like the dark wizards come out in winter."

"Summer seems too warm for evil," Ginny said.

"I suppose," Harry said, looking over at her. He hesitated for one second and then stepped forward and hugged her. "Hey, Ginny."

He even managed to ignore the pat-pat-pat.

"Hey, Harry," she said. "What brings you here?"

"I've - er - well-"

George took pity on him and flicked his wrist. "Here you go," he said. A roll of parchment floated into Harry's hands. "Harry gets a list of the ladies - and blokes - who buy love potions," George explained.

"What? Why?" Ginny said blankly.

Harry flushed. "It's just that every once in a while, someone tries to... make me fall in love with them," he shrugged, trying to pretend like it wasn't actually a big deal. "It's - you know. A lot of - erm - celebrities have to watch out for that."

Ginny gaped at him. "You're joking, aren't you?" she asked. But before Harry could reply, she continued, "You're not joking. I can't believe that! Those slimy... _scarlet women_ -"

"And men," George added helpfully.

"-evil bitches," Ginny sputtered indignantly. "Haven't you earned a right to privacy? I can't believe it. How _dare_ they try to use you like that!"

A warm feeling spread through his belly at her words, though Harry didn't exactly know why. It was highly likely that she was responding to it as a friend would... her anger didn't mean that she had feelings for him. But it was gratifying to see the indignation on her face, flushing her cheeks, and making her eyes sparkle.

Harry was suddenly happy that strange women wanted him to fall in love with them.

"Do you want to go get some ice cream?" he blurted out.

 **Chapter 4: Ice Cream and Broomsticks**

Harry immediately felt like a complete moron. It was the middle of January. It was freezing outside, and the first thing he thought of was _ice cream_?! Several seconds ticked by, and he realized he had to laugh it off. "Probably not the best time of year for it, eh?" he said as casually as he could. Harry was both surprised and grateful that George didn't immediately laugh and try to take the mickey out of him. "It's just really hot in the office all the time-"

"Dad complains about that all the time," Ginny said. To Harry's relief, she seemed to be less enraged than before, though high spots of color remained in her cheeks. "Ice cream actually sounds good, though..."

"It does," George said enthusiastically.

Harry barely managed to contain the urge to send him a look of deep skepticism. _Think, Harry, think!_ "It's just that... you know, the press would be less likely to stalk me at an ice cream parlor," he said. _Excellent. Blame the press._ Harry smiled widely. "You know how they are," Harry added cheerfully. _Evil, stalking, convenient bastards._

"It's too bad I can't go," George said, sounding regretful. "I have too much to do here... inventories and things."

Ten minutes later, Harry was opening the door to the nearly deserted ice cream parlor, and almost unable to believe his luck. A half an hour ago he'd been sitting at his desk at the Ministry, prepared to go home and prepare a meal for one before laying on his couch and relaxing. But now he was actually out. With Ginny.

Alone.

"I'll just have hot butterbeer," Harry told the waitress, grateful that he didn't actually have to order ice cream.

"Me too," Ginny said quickly.

After the waitress left, an awkward little silence fell. Harry didn't know quite what to say to her now that they were alone. Did she even consider it a date? Was Harry stupid for thinking it was? He'd asked her out for ice cream, and she'd accepted, but was there some sort of time requirement? Was it only a date if... say, twenty four hours had gone by between the invitation and the event itself?

"How is work?" Ginny spoke up.

Harry could kiss her for interrupting his maddening, stupid thoughts. "Work is... fine," Harry said honestly. "It's challenging, sometimes. And boring all the other times."

"You know," she said thoughtfully. "I really can't imagine you being anything other than an Auror. You've just always been so determined to protect people, and keep them from getting hurt."

"I really like that aspect of it," Harry told her, settling back in the booth, feeling suddenly relaxed. But that didn't stop him from glancing around, making sure that no one was listening. The last thing he wanted was his private thoughts splashed across the front page of the _Daily Prophet._ "I think it's because I - well, my parents, obviously. And Sirius. But... also you in the Chamber. Your dad getting attacked at the Ministry, Ron getting poisoned. I just-"

"Don't want that to happen to other people?" Ginny finished for him, smiling.

"Exactly. And if it does happen, I want to be the one to send the arse to Azkaban," Harry said, relieved that she'd found the point to his garbled speech. The waitress chose that moment to place their drinks in front of them. He sipped at it carefully; it was hot enough to burn his mouth if he wasn't careful. _Hopefully, I'll have reason to not want a burned mouth-_

 _Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter,_ Harry scolded himself. But he couldn't help but steal a glance at her lips. He'd always had a particular fondness for them; they were quite lovely and full, and he'd spent many a time thinking about what it would feel like to kiss them, taste them, or have them wrapped around his-

"How do you like your work?" Harry asked, desperate to keep his mind firmly where it should be - at a brightly lit ice cream parlor - rather than where it tended to go while he was in the shower, or just about to fall asleep. "What's it like to be a Quidditch star?"

"Hardly a Quidditch star," Ginny said dryly. "And it seems pretty frivolous next to being an Auror-"

"It isn't," Harry said firmly. Her eyes widened at the interruption. "It isn't frivolous at all," he added. "I'm your former Quidditch captain, and I'm slightly disturbed that you think Quidditch isn't important."

She grinned at that, but it was fleeting. She shrugged a shoulder, and hooked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Harry watched her hands move; Ginny was graceful all the time (he didn't count the time they tried to dance together; that had probably been his fault), not just in the air. "It's just that everyone else got a job at the Ministry of Magic, after the war," she said quietly. "No one said anything about it, but I think everyone thought that I'd join the Aurors, or somewhere else that needed to be rebuilt. I feel a little frivolous for choosing Quidditch."

Harry imagined her as an Auror. It was very easy to see her slipping into the role of protector, and risking her life to help others. He'd seen her do it during the war, numerous times. "I don't think you're frivolous," he said, tracing the lip of his drink. "This is just me, but... Quidditch was the one normal thing I had. And after everything - Voldemort, the war, people we love dying - normal is anything but frivolous. I really-"

"Harry! Ginny!"

Harry hadn't seen or noticed Neville Longbottom until he was right on top of them, and he had never been less happy to see him. The stocky, blond man beamed widely at both of them, obviously unaware that he'd interrupted their date.

"Hey, Neville," Ginny said.

Harry thought she sounded less than enthusiastic, but that could just be in his head. "Hi," he said, trying to keep the resentment out of his voice. He liked Neville, he really did. And that made it even worse, because he couldn't just tell Neville to shove off.

"You two will like this," Neville said, holding up a long box. "I just bought my own broom."

Ginny looked at Harry, her lips twitching, and he could tell that she was thinking exactly what he was. Harry struggled not to laugh.

"It's all right," Neville said warmly. "Go ahead and laugh... Merlin knows I'm hopeless on a broom, but I've got to learn. I'm going to South America in a few months, and I'll be canvassing the area, looking for magical flora." Neville continued to prattle on, but Harry barely paid attention to him, but alternated looking at his drink, and looking at Ginny.

"What kind did you get?" Ginny asked, jerking Harry's attention back to Neville.

"Just a Cleansweep," Neville said. "It's nice and slow..."

"You should've gotten the new Firebolt," Harry said, thinking of the broom he'd purchased after the war. It had been an indulgence, but it was worth it.

"I don't think I could've managed a Firebolt," Neville said.

Harry thought privately that perhaps Neville was right, but did not want his crankiness at the interrupted date to hurt Neville's feelings. "Did you know that you don't even have to polish them?" Harry asked, to keep himself from saying something mean. "I've had mine since right after the war, and I've never had to open my Broomstick Polishing Kit once. I'll bet Cleansweeps don't have that feature..."

"I'll bet they-"

But whatever Neville had been about to say was interrupted by Ginny getting out of the booth, and tugging on her cloak. "I'm sorry," she said, smiling at both of them. Harry stared at her, open-mouthed. _Is she actually leaving?_ "But I've just realized - I have to - Gwenog has a meeting," she said. "I'll see you two later."

She was gone so quickly that Harry barely had time to even process it. And he wasn't sure that he believed her excuse, but why would she have left so suddenly? He racked his brains, trying to figure out if he'd said anything or done anything to offend her. But he came up empty. _And she didn't do pat-pat-pat,_ Harry thought.

Ginny _always_ did pat-pat-pat whenever she said goodbye to him. And even though the we're-just-friends pat-pat-pat usually drove him mental, the absence of it felt even worse.

 **Chapter 5: Heads in the Fire**

Harry had been almost relieved when a patronus from the Head of the Auror Department arrived, interrupting Neville's long, involved speech about the magical flora of Peru. The other two patrons of the ice cream parlor and the waitress had looked stunned when the silvery animal coalesced into the shape of a hawk and ordered him to the Ministry.

"Sorry, Neville," Harry said flippantly, still somewhat resentful that _something_ had driven Ginny away. "Gotta get to this."

"It's all right," Neville said easily, causing Harry to feel somewhat guilty at his uncharitable thoughts. "I'll see you before I leave..."

"Make sure you do that," Harry said, and turned on the spot.

That marked the very beginning of a long, hard nine days spent on a case that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. A witch and her young niece had been touched by a dark wizard. They'd survived - barely - but were in St. Mungo's, and the recovery process would be slow.

He had precious little time to obsess over Ginny, though he knew that once the perpetrator had been caught, he'd turn back to wondering why she'd left so suddenly... and why she hadn't done her pat-pat-pat ritual. The one bright spot in those long days, however, had been the arrival of Ginny to his office, bringing a treacle tart. He'd wanted to stop and talk to her, but could do nothing more than thank her for it, pretending to himself that she'd been the one to make it for him, even though it had probably been Molly.

Grimmauld Place was dark and cold by the time he returned to it, and all Harry wanted was something to eat, maybe something warm to drink, and then to crawl into his comfortable bed. The sofa in his office was lumpy, and it never got dark enough to get a good night's sleep. Harry stumbled around the basement kitchen, half-heartedly making a sandwich, and wishing that Kreacher was still alive, just to have someone to talk to.

Harry sat down and stared at his meal. It looked unappetizing, and he had the selfish wish that Molly would make him another treacle tart... and send Ginny along with it. _I wouldn't even mind the pat-pat-pat,_ he promised himself. After their disastrous attempt at a date, Harry wanted to talk to her, and maybe try to figure out what went wrong. _If it even was a date,_ Harry thought sourly.

"Harry?"

Ron's voice was so unexpected that Harry leapt from the table, drew his wand, and pointed it at where his best mate's head appeared in the fire in the hearth. "Ron," he said, slowly lowering his wand. "Sorry. It's been one of those weeks."

"I can tell," Ron said, sounding amused. "Want me to come through?"

Harry sort of did - he'd like the company - but Hermione and Ron were newly married and-

"Wait," he said slowly. "Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

"We got back two days ago," Ron said, in a voice that made Harry feel about three years old. "We sent you an owl."

"I must not have gotten it," said Harry.

"You replied to it," Ron grinned at him. "That busy at work, eh?"

"It was the Tinsworth case," Harry told him. "I'm sure you read about it in the papers. We caught the wizard who did it this afternoon," he said. Harry didn't want to mention that he'd been the one to figure the case out and bring in the bloke who decided that a few galleons were worth the life of a witch and a little girl. It was too much like bragging.

"That's great," said Ron. His head tilted slightly as he appeared to listen to something behind him, something Harry couldn't hear. "Hermione wants me to ask you if you were sleeping at the office again."

Harry shrugged.

"You don't have to do that, you know," said Ron. "You send people _to_ Azkaban. You aren't actually in it."

Ron obviously didn't understand that sleeping in his own bed wasn't that much better than sleeping at the Ministry. Sometimes it was easier, even with all the interruptions and the lumpy sofa and the lack of adequate darkness. Harry could ignore the fact that he was living and sleeping alone in a huge house that he had because his godfather died. "It doesn't matter," Harry said finally.

Ron looked skeptical.

This annoyed Harry. "It's not like I have anyone to come home to," he said before he could stop himself.

"I didn't know that bothered you," said Ron, raising his eyebrows.

Harry grabbed his bottle of butterbeer and took a quick swig. He had a nasty feeling that Ron was going to push him until Harry admitted that he was lonely. But he couldn't possibly tell Ron that the reason why he was lonely was because he was so bloody hung up on Ron's sister that he just didn't even notice other witches.

"-and the one time you take a witch out since Cho Chang, it's Ginny."

Ron's comment ruthlessly cut into Harry's thoughts.

"You know about that?" asked Harry, trying to sound casual, as if it didn't mean anything. Which it obviously _hadn't_ because Ginny had left so suddenly. She probably hadn't even considered it anywhere near a date.

"Well..." Ron hedged. "Ginny told Hermione. But even before that... it was in the _Daily Prophet_ \- don't freak out-"

"What the hell?!" Harry said loudly, almost shouting. It had been in the _Daily Prophet_? How had he missed that? He felt an almost immediate, burning anger in his gut. He'd thought in his younger years that the press couldn't be more intrusive than they already were. But after he defeated Voldemort, it had escalated to the point that the press had been rummaging through the bins at the Burrow, looking for anything they could sensationalize into a story.

It drove him mental.

"It was just a small mention," Ron attempted to sound soothing. It didn't help.

"Right," said Harry. He could just imagine the headline.

"Just said that you were desperately in love with my sister, and planning to ask her to marry you," Ron told him.

Harry's mind reeled, and he had the sudden urge to run down to the _Daily Prophet_ offices and rip apart whoever had written that. He'd been falsely paired up with enough witches to know that whatever they'd had to say about Ginny hadn't been exactly complimentary. And it just made it worse that all he'd wanted to do was take her out to ice cream and talk to her (and eventually tell her he was desperately in love with her and, someday, ask her to marry him) without the bloody press getting involved.

"It wasn't like that," Harry said forcefully.

"I didn't think it was," said Ron, a strange tone in his voice. "Listen, you're obviously in a state. I'll see you on Sunday."

And his head disappeared, leaving Harry alone with his indignation.

 **Chapter 6: Magic at the Burrow**

Harry appeared with a small pop outside the wards of the Burrow, looking up at the crooked little building, feeling apprehension biting into his belly. It wasn't so much that he was nervous about seeing the Weasleys, but... Ginny's good name had been dragged into the mud by some vicious bitch at _Witch Weekly_ , and he didn't know how everyone was going to react to this.

He almost wished that he could go back to the normal feeling of just being nervous and excited whenever he arrived, in hopes of seeing Ginny.

 _I've gone around the bend,_ he thought glumly.

It had been several days since he'd spoken to Ron in the floo, and he'd come to several conclusions in the days since then: one, the offices of _Witch Weekly_ really ought to be burned to the ground; two, he really needed to at least tell Ginny how he felt, for the sake of his own sanity; and three, he had to somehow combine his first two conclusions in such a way that Ginny would ignore all the crap that came with dating Harry Potter, and just... somehow love him the way he loved her.

"Just do it," Harry muttered.

"Just do what, mate?"

Ron had apparently sprung from the earth (Harry had not even caught a glimpse of his arrival) carrying a stunned gnome, a pair of pliers, and a witch's hat. "Merlin!" Harry said loudly. "Give a bloke a warning before you pop up unexpectedly like Moaning Bloody Myrtle," he added accusingly.

"You mean like when I waved at you and said hello?" Ron grinned, dropping the things he carried, and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. The expression on his face told Harry that he could expect the mickey torn out of him for at least seven minutes - possibly even twelve.

"Sorry," Harry said. "What are those for?" he asked, pointing at the pliers, gnome, and hat, hoping that this would deter Ron from teasing him.

To his surprise, Ron's ears turned bright red. "I don't think you want to know that," he said seriously.

Harry gaped from his friend, to the bizarre collection, and back again. _Maybe I really don't want to know._ "All right," he said finally. "Does Hermione know about this?"

"Yeah, she's out in the shed," Ron told him. "Aren't you a little early?"

"Erm," said Harry. "I was"-hoping to see Ginny-"hoping to talk to your parents."

"Why?" Ron asked keenly.

"Well... you know, about the article in the _Prophet_ ," Harry said. "You know that it wasn't-"

"You already made that clear, Harry," said Ron, shaking his head. "And if you think you've got to apologize, or whatever... don't. Mum and Dad know that it isn't your fault that you've got a pack of bloodsucking leeches after you."

"But-"

"Don't even bother," Ron said cheerfully, scratching at the back of his neck and glancing over at the small, ramshackle shed with a gleam in his eyes that made Harry want to go blind. "No one is mad - we all know that you can't even go out to ice cream with a friend without being hunted down like a vampire."

Harry deflated. For a few moments, he'd been tempted to tell Ron everything - Merlin only knew what had possessed that impulse - but it had faded. "I know it's an imposition-"

This time, his words were cut off by an abrupt smack to his head. "Just let it go," Ron advised.

Rubbing at the sore spot, Harry grimaced. "Fine," he said. He'd already turned to the back door to the Burrow, and Ron was edging away, ready to do things that Harry didn't want to know about. "Is anyone else home?" he asked.

"Just Mum and Ginny," Ron said over his shoulder. "I'll see you in - well-"

"Take your time," said Harry, shaking his head. His nerves had diminished somewhat, although the prospect of seeing Ginny made his stomach churn - although this was a highly pleasant sensation. Feeling slightly awkward, he knocked on the door, despite the fact that he had never knocked on the door at the Burrow in his life.

"Who is it?" Mrs. Weasley called out.

"Er - it's me, Harry," Harry said uncomfortably. He heard someone giggle; it sounded like Ginny.

The door was flung open, and Mrs. Weasley stood in front of him, lips twitching. "Is there a reason why you're knocking?"

"He probably stopped to talk to Ron," Ginny said from behind her mother. She sat at the kitchen table, smiling at him. Harry smiled back gratefully. "He and Hermione have been-"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley said, sounding slightly scandalized and more than a little amused. "They're newly married-"

"Which is why I've found myself with the urge to knock on doors a lot more often," Ginny grinned, winking at Harry.

 _Why is she winking at me?_ Harry asked himself. She'd never done that before... winking was flirtatious, wasn't it? He wanted to wink back, but he'd unfortunately never mastered that particular trick, and usually ended up blinking both eyes rather robustly. "Hi, Ginny," he said instead.

"Hi, Harry," she replied, uncoiling from the chair.

Had Mrs. Weasley not been in the room, Harry might not have been able to control himself from letting his jaw drop. Ginny was wearing... something different. It wasn't that far from what she usually wore (and Harry thought she always looked lovely), but her Muggle jeans showed her firm legs, and her top was just tight enough to make his mouth water-

"I'm sorry about the article," he blurted out, because he had to say something. But the article seemed like a distant thing, with her hair curling around her shoulders, and practically begging him to run his fingers through it.

"It's all right," Ginny said easily, stepping forward, and giving him a hug. _Pat-pat-pat._ His stomach swooped, even as he inwardly groaned.

 _You promised that you would stop hating that,_ Harry told himself firmly.

"Those parasites are inexcusable," Mrs. Weasley said darkly. "The way they nose into your life... Arthur had to stop me from marching down there and giving their editor a piece of my mind... but that's neither here nor there," she said abruptly, making Harry's head spin. "I need to... go clean the rest of the house before everyone gets here," she said. "Ginny, you can keep Harry occupied, can't you, dear?"

Ginny rolled her eyes at this, and Harry's attention was caught once more... her lips seemed to stand out at him, all of a sudden, as though begging him to kiss them. It was hard to focus his thoughts... even breathing seemed like a chore... all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"Harry?" Ginny said quietly.

He liked how her lips looked when they formed his name. "Yes?" he said.

"We have a big match coming up on Saturday," she told him.

"Against the Wimbourne Wasps, right?" Harry asked distractedly. _Water. I need a glass of water._ He summoned a glass from the open cupboard and filled it at the sink, willing his body to relax. There was no use acting like a complete moron.

"Yeah, how did you - never mind," she said quickly. "It's... well, everyone is coming. And..."

Harry looked over at her. For some inexplicable reason, she was blushing.

"Will you?" she asked. "Come watch, I mean."

"Do you want me to?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"Well... yes," she said, fiddling with the hem of her floaty shirt. "But only if you want to."

"Of course. I love"- _you_ -"Quidditch."

"Good," she said, smiling at him again. Without even thinking, Harry took a step closer, so close that a hint of the flowery scent he associated with her reached his nose, and he could see strands of golden highlights in her red hair.

All the worries about the article, and the maybe date that she left so abruptly, and his own insecurities seemed to slip away, right out the open window of the Burrow. _I could kiss her,_ he thought. He was almost close enough to bend his head and-

The door flew open with enough force that it banged against the wall and bounced back. George swaggered through, followed closely by Percy. Both of them were laughing immoderately and did not even notice that Harry and Ginny were in the room for several moments. A good thing, because part of Harry wanted to hex them both into quivering masses of jelly.

The moment was lost. Ginny had moved away from him, and was rummaging through the cupboards. _That tension couldn't have just been coming from me,_ Harry thought resolutely. She had to have known that he'd been about to kiss her, although when he next saw her face, her expression was unreadable.

 _I'll tell her how I feel after her Quidditch match,_ Harry promised himself. _It'll be perfect._

 **Chapter 7: Out of His Head**

Instead of the Quidditch match between the Holyhead Harpies and the Wimbourne Wasps being the perfect day Harry had imagined, he landed in the hospital.

 _Ouch._

Harry came to awareness slowly. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton, his head throbbed viciously with his every heartbeat, and he thought that if he moved his head even an inch, he would vomit. It was almost like a hangover, but worse, and he could tell from the rough sheets and the strange lighting that he wasn't at home in bed, but at St. Mungo's.

Before he even attempted to open his eyes, he tried to piece together what happened. The Quidditch match. Sitting in the top box with the Weasleys, instead of hiding in a different seat, pretending like he was just another bloke, watching a match. The Beater from Puddlemere United targeting Ginny, finally knocking her off her broom when she was a hundred feet in the air-

"Ginny," he said through dry, cracked lips.

Someone thrust a straw in his mouth and he swallowed gratefully.

"She's fine, thanks to you," Ron said, his voice raspy.

Relief suffused his limbs, making him realize that he'd unconsciously tightened all of his muscles. He blinked his eyes open, wincing at the light. Squinting, he tried to make the room come into focus, but all he could see was a blob of red (Ron's hair), and bushy brown (Hermione's).

They were the only two in the room.

 _Ginny isn't here._

He shouldn't have expected her to be. And he told himself that over and over again, but with every passing moment, he grew more and more indignant. He'd jumped out of the top box, trying to protect her from a fall from that height, and she couldn't even be here when he woke up?

"The _Prophet_ is having a field day," said Hermione. "They, of course, think it was a sign that you're in love with Ginny - they've been trying to get in all day, and Arthur and Bill keep having to keep them away from her-"

"She's here?" Harry asked, pressing his hands over his eyes. She was actually in St. Mungo's and she wasn't waiting for him to wake up? _Stop. It isn't fair of you to expect her to be here-_

"We've all been here," said Hermione. "You almost died-"

"I don't care," Harry said shortly. He pushed off the blankets, not realizing until it was too late that he was completely naked underneath them. "What the hell?" he asked, momentarily distracted, pulling the blanket around his waist and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Why am I naked?"

"Er," said Ron. "Don't know for sure."

"You have a female Healer," Hermione said. It sounded as though she'd moved away, but Harry's head had begun to spin, and he'd had to shut his eyes to keep from sinking into blackness again. _And isn't that just great,_ Harry thought angrily.

He might have churned himself up to a fury at the idea that a witch had peeked at his bits while he'd been unable to stop her, but he had more pressing things on his mind. Namely Ginny, who appeared to be the only witch in Britain who didn't want to look at his bits. He stood and stumbled over to the wall, letting his head clear.

"Where in Merlin's name are you going, you nutter?" Ron asked.

Harry didn't waste time on a reply, but shuffled as quickly as he could toward the door, through it, and out into the corridor. No one was about, which was just as well. "Where's the waiting room?"

"Ginny's fine, Harry," Hermione said, sounding all too reasonable.

"I'm not," Harry said darkly.

With his two best friends muttering mutinously behind him, Harry walked toward the waiting room, keeping the blanket wrapped firmly around him. _I have no idea what I'm doing,_ he thought. But his body kept moving forward; his eyesight was becoming sharper, but his head was just as muddled.

He squinted against the glare of the lights. The sane part of him (which was being much too quiet) half-heartedly protested what he was doing. But the rest of him - the parts that had spent years in love with one woman - was too strongly focused.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked uncertainly. "You're really not supposed to be up yet. You have a head wound, and you're on a potion-"

"That's turning him into an insane man," Ron finished unhelpfully.

Harry ignored them, and swung the door to the waiting room open. It was filled with people, most of them redheads, but he recognized a few of the press as well. But they didn't matter. His gaze focused on a single redhead. He only saw her profile, but could tell that her face was swollen and blotchy. Dimly, he felt guilty that he was delighted to see that his accident had made her cry.

 _You're being a moron,_ Harry told himself.

They still hadn't noticed him.

"And I already told you, you don't have to do that," Mrs. Weasley said exasperatedly. "All you have to do is _thank_ him for saving you-"

 _Like hell,_ Harry thought.

He opened his mouth to speak-

"Mr. Potter!"

"We have a few questions-"

"It's good to see you awake and alive after that fall-"

The press converged around him, shouting questions and talking over each other. But Harry didn't listen to them. Ginny's head swung toward him, her mouth dropping open into a perfect O. He took the time to make absolutely certain she was all right. Other than the fact that she'd obviously been crying, she looked fine. _Thank God._

"You're all right," Harry said stupidly.

"Mr. Potter," said a middle-aged woman who Harry thought might work for _Witch Weekly._ "Is it true that you saved Miss Weasley at the possible expense of your own life because you love her?"

"Yes," said Harry, shielding his gaze when a bright flash erupted in his face.

" _Oh,_ " said Hermione, sounding shocked. She and Ron stood on either side of him, obviously ready to catch him if he fell over.

Harry groaned inwardly. _Of all the ways I could tell her I love her, and it isn't even to her face._ He looked over at Ginny again, but she wasn't even looking at him. Instead, she was glaring angrily at the reporter. His stomach dropped.

"Don't you dare twist his words," she said loudly. "If I see one more article that prints lies, I'll hex the lot of you," she added fiercely. While Harry would normally enjoy the sight of her defending him, she had it all wrong. But before he could interject, the room spun alarmingly, and he had to grip Ron's shoulder tightly to keep himself upright.

" _Everyone_ knows that Harry's always willing to sacrifice himself for his friends," Ginny said scathingly. "He took the bloody Avada Kedavra from Voldemort, didn't he? He did that-"

"Mostly for you," said Harry. He reached up, intending to ruffle his hair, and winced when his hand collided with the bandages wrapped around his rather tender head. It was suddenly so silent in the room that Harry could hear the portly man from the _Daily Prophet_ breathing through his mouth. _This was such a bad idea,_ he thought. All of the Weasleys were staring at him as though they'd never seen him before.

"You're in love with my sister?" Ron asked, sounding absolutely stunned.

"I _told_ you that you should've just grabbed him and snogged him," George said inexplicably.

" _George_!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Be quiet."

"Don't be - he doesn't even notice me - he's obviously just-"

Harry interrupted her. "Ginny," he said, voice sounding stronger than it had since he'd woken up. "I get that we're just friends. That's what the pat-pat-pat is about," he added, patting his own chest three times. "We're-just-friends." He did it again, this time to Ron, who looked distinctly uncomfortable and still quite stunned. "And that's fine," he lied. "But that doesn't change the fact that..."

His voice trailed away, and a few moments passed before what she'd actually said hit him. His eyebrows came together, along with a particularly painful throb in his head. "Not notice you?" he asked more harshly than he intended. But his head _hurt_ and he knew he was humiliating himself in front of the Weasleys and the press, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "I can't stop noticing you-"

"Since when?" Ginny asked incredulously. She'd stood up, and was now eyeing him warily.

"The beginning of sixth year," he admitted. "I thought it was just a crush, but I thought of you before I let Voldemort curse me, and I thought of you when I had a choice whether to come back or not." The words were spilling out of him now, and Harry grimly just let it happen. It couldn't get worse. "And I've thought of you ever since then. You could at least acknowledge it... I love your family and everything, but I adore you-"

"And you thought _I_ was thick?" Ron muttered to Hermione.

While Harry was glaring at Ron, Ginny stumbled forward almost into his arms. Harry strongly suspected that Mrs. Weasley had given her daughter a shove. He looked down at her, trying to read her expression. But her eyes were downcast, and her cheeks were scarlet.

"Put that poor boy out of his misery, Ginny," Mr. Weasley said implacably.

And she reached out-

"Don't," Harry said warningly, already guessing what she was about to do.

She did it anyway. Pat-pat-pat. "I-love-you," she said. _Pat-pat-pat._ Her voice trembled a little, but when she finally looked up at him, she was beaming. "Harry, I've been in love with you for ages..."

 _Ages._

"Thank Merlin," Harry said earnestly. And, not caring that her entire family and the press (and therefore the entire Wizarding world) were looking on, he bent his head and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and returned the kiss with such enthusiasm that Harry's head spun for an entirely different, far more pleasant reason than a concussion. He heard the sound of cameras going off, and could see the flashes behind closed eyelids, but he ignored them.

They finally broke apart, and Harry rested his aching forehead against hers before tilting his head to whisper in her ear. "I have to go lay back down," he murmured. "And I'm only wearing a blanket... will you come with me?"

"Of course," she said. Her face was still split in a wide smile.

"And you'll stay?"

"Yes," she said. "I wanted to earlier, but I didn't know if you'd want me to..."

Harry threw caution to the wind. "I'll always want you there when I wake up," he told her, softly enough so that no one else could hear.

 **EPILOGUE**

"Tell me again," said Harry.

Ginny folded her arms on his chest, and grinned up at him. She'd braided her hair in two braids, and looked rather fresh and girlish. She was also quite, quite naked. She patted him. _Pat-pat-pat_. Warmth spread from where her hands splayed over his heart. "It's _always_ meant I-love-you. Always. I promise."

Harry and Ginny had fallen into a relationship with such ease that it hardly seemed possible they had only been together three months. At the same time, Harry found it quite unbelievable it had already been three months since they'd first kissed in front of the entire Weasley family, and an assortment of reporters. Time slipped away from him, it seemed, in the bliss of finally having this witch in his arms.

Harry reached down and patted her bum. _Pat-pat-pat_. "I love you too. Promise."

She wriggled until she'd hooked her leg over his. "What else did you want to know?"

Harry grinned. "So all those times you polished my Firebolt for me—"

"—was I imagining polishing something else? Yes. Definitely," she said. Her grin was a little wicked as she used the tip of her finger to draw a pattern on a most sensitive area.

"Ginny!" he said. "I wasn't going to ask that. I mean – tell me more."

"Oh, I fantasized about you endlessly," she said carelessly.

Harry was stirring with interest. He looked down at it. It had not even been an hour since they'd engaged in their new favorite activity, and he was already getting hard again. This was not much of a surprise; whenever they had the whole day stretching before them, in general they spent it naked.

Ginny rolled over onto her back, and Harry took a moment to appreciate how beautiful she was. Smooth skin, delicate features, gorgeous face… lovely breasts. He reached out and cupped one, caressing the tip of it until it hardened.

"Tell me," Harry said.

"No, you tell me," Ginny ordered. "I told you one, that's why we did it in the shower. Now it's your turn."

Harry groaned and covered his eyes. He had had many many fantasies about Ginny over the years, and now Ginny seemed to want to pry each and every one out of his head, examine it, and – if she liked it – try to reenact it. It was one of his favorite activities, but he'd told her nearly all of his tamer ideas. They were now exploring his more salacious ideas.

"Okay," he nodded. "There was one time you came down for breakfast without your robe… this was a couple years ago, right after you started playing for the Harpies."

"I love how you remember exactly where and when it was," Ginny laughed. Her hand had wandered up his thigh, and was now stroking him in such a way that it was difficult to concentrate. For a few moments, Harry enjoyed the sensation of her coaxing him totally hard, watched her hand stroking him…

She took it away. "Harry…"

"Okay! You came down in your pajamas without a robe, and you were wearing shorts under a baggy shirt, but it sort of looked like you weren't." The words came out of him in a rush. She rewarded him by putting her hand on him again. "So I had this – _yes_ , Ginny, that feels good." He rolled over and stroked her stomach, then dipped his hand between her legs. She was warm, and spread her legs at his touch. He traced her folds, and found her clit with his thumb. "I had this fantasy of – of putting my hand on your thigh, and – in the fantasy – you didn't have any shorts on – and I put my hand on your thigh, and found out you weren't wearing any knickers on, either."

Ginny wriggled closer to him. She was getting wet under his hand. Harry kissed her, and they played with each other for a while without speaking.

"So that's it?" Ginny asked. Her breath had sped up a bit.

"No," Harry admitted. He sat up, and moved so he could kneel between her thighs. It was a truly lovely sight, and they both watched as he positioned himself at her entrance.

"Do it, please, I need you," said Ginny.

Harry eased in gently, watching his penis slowly disappear into her. It felt so good, Harry couldn't even describe it. "Ah, God, Ginny, that feels so good."

"So, so good," Ginny murmured. He looked at her face, watching her eyes move under closed lids.

His hips moved in an easy rhythm, one that wasn't interrupted when Harry stretched out more fully on top of her. "I love you," he told her.

She grabbed his arse in both hands and pulled him tighter against her. Then: _Pat-pat-pat._ Harry grinned, and began a quicker, harder rhythm. Then the only sound was rhythmic slapping, and the mewling sounds she began to make.

"I was – I felt that you didn't have any knickers, and that you were wet," Harry said with great effort, knowing she wanted to hear it. "And then we ended up – under the table. My invisibility cloak."

" _Yes_ , Harry, right there," she gasped.

Harry kept at that angle. Her arms tightened around him, a prelude to her climax. Harry kissed her, holding her as tightly as she held him, and he felt her begin to climax on him, squeezing him with inner muscles. They were both mumbling incoherently. Harry could no longer think about the fantasies he used to have about this woman, not when he was driving into her, not when he was coming in her, not when he was living what he'd dreamed about for so long.

Propping himself up on his arms so as not to crush Ginny, he planted small kisses wherever he could reach. She stroked his sides.

Harry drifted into a nap, still inside her, still marveling at how lucky he was.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **Author's Note:** _Look, I know literally no one wanted to see a sexy version of It's Not Easy Being Green. But I am putting Ginny through the wringer right now in Harry Potter and the Shadowed Patronus, and I feel pretty guilty about it. I needed to write this tonight, okay? I have another idea for a one-shot that I think will be about 10,000 words (like this one), and I opened a file for it and everything, but it needs to percolate a bit more. The only thing I have for it is a title._

 _Hope you enjoyed. Or, I hope you at least didn't hate it._


	2. It Could Be Nicer Being Red

Ginny Weasley could not pinpoint an exact moment when her dormant crush on Harry Potter deepened into something more. It crept up on her during the summer after her fifth year, when everything had changed. She told herself that it was just because she was worried about him, because Voldemort was after him. But she'd happened to glance his way at Bill and Fleur's wedding - he'd been sitting at a table with her Auntie Muriel of all people - and it was as though her feelings for him tapped her on the shoulder and said "We're back, just in case you didn't notice."

All through that year, they'd just grown stronger. Once, after the Carrows had been particularly harsh in their punishment, she'd actually pretended that it was Harry who'd applied the salve on her face, instead of Neville. And Harry's hands had been gentle and tender, not perfunctory and comradely. She never told anyone this; it was a little embarrassing that she was _that_ crazy about someone who barely noticed her.

Ginny didn't realize that it was _love_ , and not just a silly, schoolgirl crush until she saw Hagrid carrying Harry's body out of the forest. Seeing him dead had almost killed her, and even though he'd only been pretending, it still haunted her sometimes. When he'd pulled off the invisibility cloak in the center of the Great Hall, and dueled Voldemort, she'd screamed right along with everyone else. But she liked to think that her scream came from a different place than anyone else's. And she'd thought, rather dazedly, that it wasn't really possible to feel that much for someone.

The relief had been almost frightening in its intensity.

After the battle, after Fred's funeral, Ginny kept thinking to herself that maybe her feelings had been borne of the intensity surrounding all of that. The summer that followed the war quickly disabused her of that notion. If anything, they just grew as she watched Harry awkwardly accept praise, offer sincere condolences, and just be a steady presence at the Burrow just after they'd lost Fred.

It had also been quite apparent that Harry had no idea what she felt. Mostly, she thought this was a good thing. They had an easy friendship - Harry was very kind and attentive - and she knew that if he somehow managed to figure it out, he'd be embarrassed and guilty. At least she wasn't sticking her elbow in the butter dish around him.

It wasn't so easily hidden from the rest of her family, however. They'd all figured it out after (or during) the Final Battle, and, once things had calmed down a bit, had offered their advice. "Just wait and see what happens, love," her mother had said. Ginny didn't much like this advice - patience wasn't her strong suit - but gritted her teeth and set out to being patient. "Date ozzer people," Fleur had offered. "You do not want to be lonely while you're waiting, do you?" So Ginny dated. Nothing at all serious, that wouldn't have been fair, but she didn't refuse to go to Hogsmeade just because she was in love with her brother's best mate, who also happened to be Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World.

"I think you need to take more direct action," George told her after she graduated from Hogwarts. But since Ginny didn't want to just grab Harry and snog him like George told her to, she decided to ignore that little gem.

"Harry's a nutter," Ron said, plenty of times. "I know he likes witches, but he avoids them like the plague. Cho really screwed him up, I think."

Hermione always smacked Ron on the head whenever he said this. "I just think Harry's going through a rough patch, romantically," she told Ginny on her nineteenth birthday. "He'll notice you. He just needs to be in the right place."

It was frustrating. And the only indulgence that she gave herself was doing stupid, silly little things. When Harry bought his new Firebolt, she decided that she'd polish it for him. It was a simple thing, but she hoped it made his life a little easier. And when Kreacher died two years after the war, Ginny took it upon herself to keep the front of Grimmauld Place clean and tidy. It was easy to do. She was there often enough, hanging out with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and it wasn't any big deal to cast a few charms to keep Harry from having to do it.

It was really the only thing she could do.

Ginny was just fine with things the way they were. Or so she told herself often enough. True, life would be a lot better if he actually returned her feelings (and she only imagined what that would be like every day). But she was all right with not being _the one_ for him (although she had to admit that it would've hurt her more than it should if he actually met someone; thankfully, Harry didn't date). She had a job she loved, lots of friends, people liked her, her family was warm and supportive. Everything else was wonderful.

And then, the day after Ron and Hermione's wedding, everything changed.

 **xxxxx**

The morning after Ron and Hermione's wedding, Ginny sat much closer to Harry than she normally would have done. Perhaps it was the hangover, or the fact that it was freezing outside, and Harry was warm. Or maybe it was just that she couldn't really hide the fact that she was in love with him. But after telling him, through a secret code of patting, that she loved him, she nestled next to him.

And they were talking about sex.

Her body reacted to the conversation. She was human, after all. She wasn't capable of thinking about Harry and sex without finding herself very warm. _It's not usually in front of him, though,_ she thought. His arm moved slightly and pressed against hers. This didn't help.

She cast a desperate look at Ron, who, bless him, seemed to realize that she couldn't quite handle it.

(Green)

 _At least he's never had sex before,_ said a traitorous little voice inside her head. She immediately felt guilty. Everyone knew that Harry - aside from being the Savior of the Wizarding World (named so by both _The Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ ), and a top-notch Auror - led a rather lonely life. His name had been paired with countless witches (every time she read a blasted article about him, her stomach plunged), but Ron and Hermione always assured her that Harry hadn't had a serious date since his fifth year.

She glared at George, who had an openly sly look on his face. _I'm going to hurt you,_ she mouthed at him.

Then, turning her head, she looked at Harry. "Why is it you put up with that git again?" she asked, gesturing toward George, who was _not_ suitably cowed by her threat to maim him.

Harry chuckled. "Oh... you know, I feel like I have to," he answered cheerfully. "Technically, he's my business partner."

"You should buy him out," Ginny informed him. "You could do it, too. I read that _Prophet_ article about the five tonnes of gold you have at Gringotts," she added, winking.

"Yeah, the _Prophet_ knows a lot about my personal life," Harry said sarcastically, grinning at her. "You should believe every word about me that they print."

Ginny snorted.

"But didn't you just get done telling us that you haven't-"

"George!" Hermione interjected.

Harry reached up and ruffled his hair, his cheekbones staining red. "Must you keep talking about that?" Harry muttered.

"I, for one, think you ought to take the lot of them outside and show them what you do to dark wizards," Ginny said staunchly. Her annoyance with the press only seemed to grow with each article. It was bloody annoying the way they thought they could publish every little fact about his life - and embellishing and flat-out lying whenever they thought it necessary.

"Er," said Harry. "I don't think my boss would like that much..."

Ginny grimaced and fiddled with the frays on her dressing gown. Harry took an awful lot of rubbish without complaining, and while she respected that, it just wasn't right that he was like an animal in a zoo to some people. Harry had always been a very private person... "Maybe I'll just do it for you," she said staunchly.

Harry moved his leg, and she was suddenly _very_ aware of the way it rested against hers. Her entire thigh tingled. _Damn it,_ Ginny thought glumly. She turned away, letting her hair fall into her face, so Harry couldn't see how damnably _red_ her entire face had gotten. It seemed she'd reached new heights of color in her cheeks, due to her embarrassment and arousal.

It didn't help that everyone - even _Percy_ of all people! - were giving her pointed looks and winks, obviously noting the fact that she'd been sitting very close to Harry for the last ten minutes. Ginny rolled her eyes, stifling a sigh. _Why did I tell them?_ she thought desperately for what felt like the millionth time.

The attention her family paid to her nonexistent relationship with Harry had only increased through the years. And last night - after they'd danced awkwardly together - had obviously caused a reaction from her family. Ginny was just waiting for her mother to pounce, and tell her that it was only a matter of time before Harry realized what was right in front of him. While this used to bolster her spirits, Ginny couldn't quite believe it anymore.

If Harry was ever going to notice her, it would've happened a long time ago.

"Does anyone want to go play Quidditch?" she asked quickly, forgetting that it was January, and obviously too bloody cold to go flying. _Could I be any more of a moron?_ she thought, giving herself a mental kick.

"Er," said Ron, gesturing at the pile of presents still surrounding him. "We've still got these to go through."

"Right," Ginny said. "I was just... feeling cooped up."

Harry shifted and rose slowly to his feet.

Ginny watched him, dismayed. "I didn't mean cooped up on the sofa," she said. _Damn it, Ginny!_ "You didn't have to get up. You should sit back down..." She determinedly kept her eyes away from any member of her family, who probably thought she sounded about twelve years old. _Any minute now I'll stick my elbow in the butter dish,_ she thought darkly.

"That's all right," Harry said, glancing at his watch. "I've got to go into the Ministry anyway..."

Five minutes later he was gone, after a flurry of goodbyes and bantering comments to Ron.

"Well," Hermione said, as soon as the fire died down in the hearth, and the flames changed back to their normal color. "He's very comfortable around you," she said sympathetically.

Ginny shrugged a shoulder. _What was the use of Harry being comfortable around me?_ She wanted him to feel the way she did. Every nerve in her body had been on high alert last night while they'd been dancing, and then again today, when they'd just been sitting next to each other. How was it even possible that that kind of intensity could be so one-sided.

"I still think he's going to wake up one day, and it'll just smack him over the head that he fancies you," Ron announced. "The way it did for me with Hermione."

Ginny appreciated the support, but the more time went on, the more it became apparent that she wasn't ever going to be to Harry what he was to her. "You don't have to keep saying that," she told him. "It just makes it worse."

"And _I_ still think you should just grab him and snog him," George said, juggling wadded up balls of wrapping paper. "That'd be a nice wake up call."

Ginny hated to admit it, but George's advice had a certain appeal.

 _What've I got to lose?_

 _Just his friendship._

xxxxxx

After practice, Ginny Apparated to Diagon Alley and walked the cozy, crooked little street, pretending she didn't have a specific destination in mind. She wandered into Off the Pyre and goggled at the strange and expensive furniture; she bought a singing peppermint candle from Floating Posies; and when her footsteps finally carried her to Weasleys's Wizard Wheezes, she could tell herself it was an accident.

George was closing up shop, and Ginny stopped in the doorway, looking at him. His public facade — even around family — was that of a cheerful man, the classic prankster. But alone like this, he looked tired and careworn.

For some reason, this made her blurt out: "You really think I should just grab him and snog him?"

George looked around at her. "Yes," he said steadily. "Don't get me wrong — I'm grateful not to see you snogging some bloke. I'd relent for Harry, but still. But," his tone softened, "you've been pining after him. I think you should just lay it out there. What could you lose?"

Ginny swallowed. "His friendship? His comfort with me?" She scratched a spot behind her ear. "I mean, I _know_ this has gone on a long time. But Harry doesn't seem happy with romantic attention."

"Yeah, let me show you why," George said briskly. He led her around the back, to a tiny office filled with paper, paper airplanes, and the scent of gunpowder. He rifled through the stacks, finally alighting on a scroll.

"What is it?" Ginny asked.

"Harry's been the victim of a love potion or two — nothing serious happened, but he is paranoid. Rightfully so, I think. You'd be amazed how many witches want to see that bloke's bits."

Ginny felt a swell of irrational possessiveness. At least she had never once, her entire life, considered using a love potion on Harry. Taking his will away, forcing him to feel things he didn't? That crossed a line, and it reminded her of what Tom Riddle had once done to her. Ginny stared at the list. "All of these women tried to love potion Harry?" she said in a hard voice.

"No! No," George said hastily. "No, he just gets a list of the women who buy love potions here, just so he can avoid them."

That made her feel better. She slumped down into a chair, and put her hands in her hair. "Did I ever tell you I polish his Firebolt for him?" Catching the look on his face, Ginny added, "His _actual_ Firebolt, George. Merlin. Pay attention, will you? So I polish his Firebolt, and he knows it, and he's never once said anything. He lets me do it, though. Merlin knows, I'm not — not subtle. I tell him I love him pretty much every time I see him."

"But not in words," George pointed out. "Or kisses. Either one of those would give Harry a better indication of what you're thinking."

Ginny did not want to admit that polishing his Firebolt gave her more hope than anything else. She knew he knew she did it for him. And sometimes she thought it explained the more lingering looks he gave her. It suddenly struck her that she was wooing him, and it might even be working, except it was going so slowly. She thought about how comfortable he'd been with her on the couch the day after the wedding.

"I don't want to rush it, George," Ginny said quietly. "I can't stand the idea of making him uncomfortable with — because of my feelings."

"He's what, twenty one?" George scoffed. "He shouldn't be uncomfortable with you having feelings for him. Even if he doesn't return them — and in my mind, that's a big fucking if — he's an adult. He isn't going to run off and leave the country because Ginny Weasley loves him."

Ginny jabbed her finger at the list of witches who'd bought love potions.

"They aren't _you_ ," George said. " _Ginny."_ His face was suddenly more serious than Ginny'd seen since the funeral. "Fred died, and it was the worst thing that ever happened. But he knew we all loved him. But remember how terrible Mum felt for _ages_ because the last thing interaction she had with Fred was pushing him aside to get to Percy? She wanted one more chance to have that last memory be a good one. Harry's got a dangerous job, Gin. How do you think you'd feel if — Merlin forbid — something happened and you never, ever got up some Gryffindor courage and told him how you felt?"

Ginny's stomach sank at the idea. "I just don't want to ruin anything — for him," she said feebly.

"What are you, a Hufflepuff?" George taunted.

Ginny sagged at the accusation. And wondered if all her reasoning boiled down to cowardice, after all. That the careful, cautious wooing was done out of fear, not Harry's feelings. "George, I'm afraid to tell him," she whispered. "He _matters_."

"So tell him."

Nerves quivering, Ginny finally nodded her head. "All right," she said. "All right. I'll tell him."

George gave her no time to prepare, but grabbed the floo powder, and gave her an evil grin.

"George! That's not—"

"Grimmauld Place!"

"—necessary," Ginny finished glumly.

"Act like you don't know what I just told you about the love potions," George ordered.

Her head was spinning by the time Harry arrived. Was she really going to do this? She was intensely aware of Harry's arrival, and what she had to do now that George had goaded her into it. And somehow Harry'd been maneuvered into asking her out for ice cream, and Ginny was walking beside him. His shoulder kept brushing hers.

They ended up ordering hot butterbeer instead of ice cream, for which Ginny was grateful. And in the little ice cream shop, Ginny eased into a conversation with Harry. A part of her had always wondered if he felt she was frivolous for choosing Quidditch as a career. That eased when she saw he respected her for her career choices.

He was so easy to talk to, Ginny forgot her nerves. It helped that she now knew he went to her games. She would tell him that she polished his broom because she liked to do things for him because she fancied him. And then he'd tell her he went to her games because he fancied her, too—

It was Neville of all people who dashed her hopes.

"Did you know that you don't even have to polish them?" Harry said enthusiastically, speaking of his Firebolt, just as Neville announced he'd bought a Cleansweep.

Whatever he else he said after that, Ginny heard as though through a tunnel. She looked down at her hands. He didn't even know she was polishing it for him? He thought it just... did it by itself? Her chest felt very tight, and it was all she could do not to do something horrible and burst into tears. How was she going to tell him now?

Blindly, she reached for her cloak, stood up, and pulled it on. If she didn't know any better, she'd say Harry gave her a stricken look as she left. She couldn't even bring herself to tell him wordlessly that she loved him. Instead, she walked out into the cold, trying not to cry.

xxxxxx

"We went out for ice cream," said Ginny. "And then Neville came and sat with us, and _Hermione!_ Harry doesn't even know I polish his broom."

Hermione made an outraged sound.

"Honeymoon," said Ron for at least the twelfth time.

Ginny soared a fleeting glance at the rather tropical and decadent surroundings. "Yeah, we know you're on your honeymoon."

"There are more important things I could be doing than listening to you bitch about Harry for six hours," said Ron.

"It hasn't been six hours," Hermione said fairly. "It hasn't even been one hour."

"And I haven't even told you about the article!" Ginny said, outraged. An article in the Daily Prophet had revealed their date had not gone unnoticed. It had painted her out to be a money-grubbing bitch who was trading on her heroic older brother's connections to score a date with Harry. She told them all about it. Ron was rather gratifyingly angry.

"Fine, I'm going to talk to him when I get back," Ron finally said. "I'll sort this out." He looked at Hermione. "If Ginny's right he didn't even know about the broom-polishing, you're going to have to take back every time you've called me the most oblivious bloke on the planet." Then he jabbed a finger at Ginny. "Now, I want some time alone with _my wife_."

"All right, fine," she said. "Hermione, floo me in five minutes when he's done." Ginny withdrew from the flames, smirking, as Ron made a rude gesture at her.

Ginny lived in a tiny house in Wizarding London. The group of homes was collectively called the Birdhouse, as they were perched in the sky above Diagon Alley. She leaned out her window, observing the bustling city below, and her eyes lit on the offices of the Daily Prophet.

Harry was off on a case, fighting to protect wizards and Muggles alike, and they were more interested in whether or not he was tugging Ginny's knickers down behind an ice cream parlor.

Ten minutes later, Ginny was striding through the front doors of the Daily Prophet, hand on her wand. "Ginny Weasley, here to see the editor," she said in a firm voice. She'd pinned on the badge that proclaimed her a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class, and the wizard manning the front desk gaped at her.

She was led into the editor's office. It was plush and opulent, and Ginny didn't care. "I read your article about my love life," she said in a hard voice.

The placating smile on his face made Ginny want to smack it. Instead, she raised her eyebrow.

"Miss Weasley, while I am sure it wasn't comfortable for you, I assure you, we—"

"Need to do better," Ginny interrupted. "Harry Potter is an Auror. Right now, he is in the middle of a case, doing what he can to protect us. You, me, everyone. You need to do better than to drag his love life in the mud every three days." She let the portly editor know exactly what she thought of him and his writers.

When she finished, the smirk was off his face. "See here, girl, we're just—"

"Trying to sell papers. Yes, I know," Ginny said coldly. She was quite angry now. "And I know it was fruitless to come down here. I just wanted to tell you, face to face, that it wouldn't hurt you or your readers to take a page from Harry's book. To be a better man. To protect, instead of drag down. To spend your energy serving others. To rebuild, not try to tear apart." Ginny's speech finished, she gathered her dignity like a cloak, and whirled out of the office. It was silent as she walked out.

Over the next few days, after her impromptu meeting at the Daily Prophet, she began to pull it together. She'd put too much importance on him knowing she'd been polishing his broom, obviously. Whatever her wooing had been, it was time to make it more obvious. Because George — damn him — was right. She needed to tell him, and he needed to know.

First, she made the best tart she could and brought it to his office.

Then, she bought a new outfit and dressed up when he knew he was going to be at the Burrow. She stood next to him as much as possible, did not let self-consciousness get in the way of making eye contact, and in general, let it show that she couldn't care less what the buzzards over at the Daily Prophet said about her.

The tension between them — or at least, the tension on Ginny's end of their friendship — kicked up a notch. She could barely sleep, her dreams were so fevered. She'd wake up aching and wanting, and it was driving her mad. The morning after a particularly detailed dream, in which Harry did things to her that made her blush in the light of day, she realized she couldn't keep living like this.

It was the day the Holyhead Harpies went up against the Wimbourne Wasps. Ginny prepared for it mechanically. She knew he'd be at the match, and while that made her nervous — and also devoutly grateful he was not a legilimens, and couldn't see all the things she imagined him doing with her — she was determined to drag him aside after and lay everything out for him.

It was time. It was beyond time.

xxxxxxx

Ginny hovered over the pitch, breathing in the cold air, and preparing herself for the match. High up in the stands were her parents, most brothers, a couple sisters in law, and Harry. Ginny'd already done three fly-bys. The match was barely a concern. Most of her energy was spent thinking of what she intended to tell Harry after the match.

She looked at him. He was looking at her, and her breath caught. For a long moment, she couldn't bring herself to look away. _I'm going to tell you I'm in love with you today,_ she told him silently. _I can't keep it in anymore. I have to tell you. Right after the match._

 _xxxxxx_

Instead, Ginny was glaring at the healer who'd taken off all Harry's clothes for a _head wound_. "Explain to me, _again_ , why he needed to be undressed," she said through gritted teeth.

"Ginny, just let it go," her dad advised.

Ginny continued to glare, and the healer finally scuttled off.

Her dad and Bill had to run interference between her and the press. She knew they were thinking she would go after them, and part of her wanted to, but she kept reliving the moment she was dangling off her broom, and seeing Harry plummeting off the top box after a fancy bit of wandwork that saved her life. If Ginny'd been three seconds later in casting a cushioning charm, he would've—

Her throat closed up.

Ginny wanted to go sit in his room so badly that she had to sit on her own hands to keep herself from marching in there. But she didn't want to be like that healer, or the women who tried to use love potions, or anything. Harry valued his privacy.

Harry was importuned enough.

Harry didn't need her goggling at him.

Her mum came to sit down with her. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Ginny mumbled something, she didn't even know what.

"And I already told you, you don't need to do that. You could just _thank_ him—"

Harry was walking right toward her, wearing a blanket and a fierce look on his face. The reporters began to shout.

"Mr. Potter!"

"We have a few questions—"

"It's good to see you awake and alive after that fall—"

"You're all right," Harry said directly to her.

Ginny felt like pleading with him, but for what, she didn't know.

"Is it true that you saved Miss Weasley at the possible expense of your own life because you love her?"

"Yes."

Ginny's face heated, and she felt disoriented, and then she was shouting at the reporters who were taking advantage of Harry's vulnerability to try to pry secrets out of him. She threw her own self off the flying carpet, and shouted her deepest insecurities, wanting to protect him—

"Don't you dare twist his words," she said loudly. "If I see one more article that prints lies, I'll hex the lot of you. _Everyone_ knows that Harry's always willing to sacrifice himself for his friends. He took the bloody Avada Kedavra from Voldemort, didn't he? He did that—"

"Mostly for you."

"You're in love with my sister?" Ron asked, sounding absolutely stunned.

"I _told_ you that you should've just grabbed him and snogged him," George said. He was obviously trying not to laugh.

" _George_!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Be quiet."

"Don't be — he doesn't even notice me —he's obviously just—"

Harry interrupted her. "Ginny, I get that we're just friends. That's what the pat-pat-pat is about," he added, patting his own chest three times. "We're-just-friends." He did it again, this time to Ron, who looked distinctly uncomfortable and still quite stunned. "And that's fine... But that doesn't change the fact that... wait, you think I don't _notice_ you?"

Ginny's entire body was quivering. Tears were stinging at the back of her eyes, and there was a bowtruckle dancing in her belly.

He said other things, then, but Ginny could only stare at him, lips parted. Her mum squeezed her hand, and then pushed her toward him. Toward Harry.

"Put that poor boy out of his misery, Ginny," Mr. Weasley said implacably.

And she reached out—

"Don't," Harry said warningly.

She did it anyway. Pat-pat-pat. "I-love-you," she said. _Pat-pat-pat._ Her voice trembled a little, but when she finally looked up at him, she was beaming. "Harry, I've been in love with you for ages..."

 _Ages._

"Thank Merlin," Harry said earnestly.

And Ginny, not caring that her entire family and the press (and therefore the entire Wizarding world) tilted her head up and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and melted into him. She heard the sound of cameras going off, and could see the flashes behind closed eyelids, but she ignored them.

They finally broke apart, and Harry rested his head against hers. "I have to go lay back down," he murmured. "And I'm only wearing a blanket... will you come with me?"

"Of course," she said. Her face was still split in a wide smile.

"And you'll stay?"

"Yes," she said. "I wanted to earlier, but I didn't know if you'd want me to..."

"I'll always want you there when I wake up," he told her, softly enough so that no one else could hear.

xxxxxxx

Harry came home with her the next morning.

After a long night in which they'd done nothing except hold hands, Ginny was ready to take George's advice, grab him, and snog him. Instead, she led him to her small sofa, sat down, and curled up next to him. His arm came around her, and for a few moments, Ginny just reveled in how _happy_ she was.

"I wish—"

"I should have—"

They broke the silence at nearly the same moment. Ginny broke off with a smile.

"I should have told you a long time ago," Harry murmured. "I just... didn't think I'd get to be this happy." His eyes met hers. "After everything, after Voldemort, I guess I just didn't think it would be so easy. That the witch I was in love with loved me back without me even having to do anything."

Ginny suddenly realized that she just wasn't close enough to him, so she made a bold move and straddled his lap. She nestled into him, and his arms gripped her tightly. "I didn't want to ruin anything between us," she said. She pulled back a little so she could look at him. "I know how much you care about my family... I didn't want you to start avoiding the Burrow because of me."

"Never," said Harry. He was no longer looking into her eyes, but was staring as though fascinated by a lock of her hair he'd twined in his fingers.

Ginny pressed a kiss to his jaw, then his chin, then his lips. If she'd thought the kiss at St. Mungo's was brilliant, this one was even better. It was long, slow, and sweet. Ginny could feel his heart beating, could feel it when it sped up. She was so close to him, she felt him grow hard beneath her. They parted. His eyes were asking her a question, and she flushed and nodded.

He reached down between them and adjusted himself. When he kissed her again, it was different. It was as though they'd unlocked some door, and passion came tumbling out. His hands were restless, moving on her thighs, her back, her bum. Ginny explored him just as much.

Then he was tugging at her shirt.

Ginny leaned back, continuing to rock against him.

He pulled her shirt up halfway, then stilled. "Ginny, I — is this okay?" he asked. She could feel him pulsing against her.

Ginny nodded, and lifted her arms so he could get her shirt off.

Harry looked his fill, and Ginny caught a look in his eyes that made her shiver. "You're so beautiful," he said fervently. Then he cupped her face, and kissed her. Light, lingering things. Slow, deep ones. He gave her lips every kind of kiss, and then he laid her back, and did the same to her breasts.

Harry learned her by touch. She touched him, undressing him slowly, trying to memorize how he felt under her fingertips. Smooth and strong.

Long, slow kisses later, Ginny was naked and quivering in his arms. His underpants were on, but they weren't hiding anything at all. His hand was on her stomach, his fingers just barely grazing her curls.

At the same moment, they touched each other. He was hard and smooth, and pulsing. Ginny rolled over onto her side, lifting her leg. Harry's touch was tentative at first. He lightly grazed her folds, opening her, spreading the wetness there. All the while, he was looking into her eyes. His were a dusky green, dilated, and when she gripped him in her fist, and pumped, they rolled back into his head.

They spent what felt like days on that sofa. Ginny got just as much pleasure learning his body as she did from his touches.

"Teach me," he told her at one point.

So she showed him how to use his fingers, and he was as delighted to make her come as she was. "Oh God, Harry," she panted. Her own hand fell away, and he was rubbing at that sweet spot with his thumb, while his fingers were—

"Oh God, yes, right there," said Ginny. Little moans kept escaping her mouth, and her hips moved of their own accord. Then with one great gasp, she came apart.

Then Harry was kissing her. Deeply and fervently.

"I don't think I've ever been happier," he told her. They were sweaty and sticky from their activities, but Ginny didn't want to move. Who knew how fantastic her couch would be?

"Me either, Harry," she told him. "Me either."

xxxxxx

 **Author's Note:** _Your second Christmas present! This was actually tough to write. I am not in a romantic comedy headspace right now, but I hope you still enjoyed it._

 _I am curious, have you ever reread a story of mine?_

 _Merry Christmas!_

 _Love,_

 _Ella_


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